Ok, so imagine this. It’s Thanksgiving and you hosted dinner for everyone. The meal is done and cleanup begins. You dig around and fill every plastic container in the house and start finding room for them all in the fridge. You find a place for everything and slam the door shut…then wait to make sure it doesn’t pop back open. Whew…you’re good to go.
Then someone opens it back up to get the Cool Whip for the pumpkin pie and all hell breaks loose. The Cool Whip…where is it? Good God, someone got the Cool Whip, right? Is it thawed? It’s in the back? Sigh…so you start digging for the Cool Whip, trying not to disturb the Tetris-like placement of containers you just arranged in there…and they start falling on you, one by one. Then you have to pull out the big tub of Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter and the turkey carcass…and more containers tumble out. Finally you find the Cool Whip and try to reassemble the Tetris game o’leftovers.
Just too many containers in there. So many that you can’t find what you need without a lot of drama. Each one holds a tasty tidbit, but there are just so many. So many that picking a favorite is nearly impossible so you try a little of each. You think you can just have a taste, but each one is sooo good you can’t stop. And you end up overstuffed and ill.
I realized today that this resembles my life, frighteningly so. I have too many containers in my life, too many things requiring my attention. And they end up falling on me when I try to find a certain one. I think I can just try something new, but it ends up being so good that a taste just isn’t enough. So I attempt to try them all and end up overstuffed and ill. Unfortunately, they don’t disappear as they’re eaten, they just sit there and mock me.
I don’t know where I’m going with this, but it’s something that occurred to me. I’m tired of having the plastic containers of my life falling on my toes. The bruises are a bitch.